"Basara… report! Basara!"
Yamada's voice cracked as he pressed the button, ducked low behind an overturned sofa. Dust and shards of plaster rained from the ceiling as the building groaned from the blast above. The static that answered was hollow, empty. No reply came.
The boss crouched beside him, jaw clenched, scar tight against his skin. He didn't need the report. He already knew. The rooftop team was gone.
Then the second walkie-talkie in his grip crackled to life.
"You fired on me," Riku's voice growled, low and edged with fire. It was calm in the way only fury could be calm every word, sharpened like a blade. The sound of the helicopter's rotors bled through the transmission, a constant reminder that death was circling above them.
"You think you can scare me?" the boss spat back, lifting the walkie to his lips. His tone carried bravado, but sweat beaded on his forehead.
